


Sprite of Death

by Yunes



Series: Sprites [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Belief, Crossover, Immortal Harry, Master of Death Harry Potter, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Sprites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-16 18:15:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16500311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yunes/pseuds/Yunes
Summary: Collecting the Deathly Hallows isn't easy, but it has been done before. Only difference: until Harry no one actually accepted death and walked into it knowingly in order to save someone else. And now finally, finally, death is free to pass on.Only problem? He didn't leave behind any kind of instructions.Harry Hallow wakes up under the light of the full moon and has no idea what he is supposed to do.A slightly different Master of Death Harry fic.





	Sprite of Death

He felt heavy. Weak. Cold. Lonely.

Then something changed.

He opened his eyes and was immediately captivated by a soft, silvery light shining into his eyes through the leaves above. It filled him with peace and serenity unlike anything he had ever felt before. Suddenly the coldness and weakness didn't bother him anymore. He no longer felt like kneeling over. He simply felt free. Unburdened. Unattached. Safe.

He stared, mesmerised by the reflection of the silver light, which was broken into many shades of silvery green by the surrounding leafs. Delicate vendor, shady fir springs. Every shade imaginable was there. And surrounding all the brilliant light of the full moon.

_Welcome to the realm in between, Harry Hallow. We will be needing you. As you have mastered death, he was finally able to leave in your stead and asked me to convey his gratitude._

Harry Hallow blinked uncomprehendingly and stared on. A small frown appeared on his deathly pale face as he finally took in the full scope of the situation. The moon was talking to him - or at least appeared to. And he didn't even know who he was.

“Are you the moon? Who am I? And what am I supposed to do? What did you mean, I _mastered_ death? How is that even possible?” But he never received an answer other than a cloud, moving just a bit to fast to seem natural, shoving itself in front of the silver light, which covered the forest he was in in near complete darkness. Suddenly he felt lonely again, combined with just a tiny bit of apprehension. He knew, whatever followed, wouldn't be half as agreeable with him as the light of the moon.

Without giving it any real thought, he his hands moved to reach for anything that might serve as a kind of weapon or protection. That was when he realised that someone seemed to have moved and draped him in a particular manner.

His arms had been crossed over his chest, left over right. In his hands were two solid objects. What they were, he did not know, as a heavy black cloak had been draped over him. He could tell by only glancing at it, that it must have been very expensive, even it was just plain black. The material, though, seemed really fine. He could feel its silky, soft texture on his bare arms. Then he noticed the seams, that were decorated in delicate, vine like patterns, shining in a green color reminiscent of death.

Cautiously, he sat up, the cloak rippling off his torso like a wave on water. He looked at his hands.

In his right, there was a knife, that in his head he classified as a ritual dagger. Its basic color was completely black, from handle to blade. The handle, though, was intricately decorated with beautiful, tiny emeralds shining in an eerily green. The edge of the blade, too, seemed to be giving off a bright fairy light green.

In his left, there was a bone white brooch showing a filigree snake, which curled around an emerald, that gave off the same eerie green as the dagger and the cloak’s seams.

_“Harry.”_

His head snapped around and met the gaze of a pretty, blond lady in her middle years. Her features were those of an aristocrat, high cheekbones, sharp eyes and rosy lips. Chipped lips. That was when he finally realised that the woman looked like she'd been through hell. Her elegant hair updo was in disarray, her face dirty, her eyes tired - and wide open, staring at him like she'd seen a ghost.

He blinked at her, stupefied. “Er, hello? Do you know me?”

Her eyes looked so sad it made his heart bleed a little, even though he didn't know her. “I do”, she told him in a subdued voice. “I do”, she really reiterated, her voice slightly cracking. Then she sighed, a tear falling from her unblinking gaze. “Oh, Harry.”

Hesitatingly, she stretched out her hand and caressed his cheek. Her touch was unbearably warm. Again, she sighed and withdrew.“I am so sorry. You shouldn't have died.”

He startled. “So I am a ghost?”

Even though it seemed forced, she smiled at him as she shook her head. “No. Ghosts form when people were not properly interred and held on to a strong feeling, mostly revenge.”

Harry frowned. “But I woke up here, dead, and it doesn't look like I was buried.”

The woman snorted and gestured to the things he was still holding, the cloak resting on his outstretched legs. “No, you are a sprite. You have been interred in the olde ways. I _am_ a _Black_ , after all.” She scrunched his nose. “Even though some of us might have forgotten, I held on to the olde ways, the _true_ olde ways. We olde families still remember the way things used to be. In case of someone sacrificing themselves, one has to rest their body on the place they died, give him a wand, a stone and a cloak, and pray to the moon.” She crooked her neck in a pensive manner. “These rites are so old they even made up a fairy tail about it, but forgot about its origin. The wizarding world really isn't what it once was.”

“But…” He looked down at the ritual dagger and brooch. “This isn't a wand.”

She shrugged. “I couldn't find your wand. In that case it is custom to give them a knife instead - so that the deceased is never without protection. And the broach is the only gem I had on hand. All three items were those I had on me after the battle. I am afraid, I didn't have time to find you anything better suited.”

Harry frowned at her. She looked distinctly uncomfortable. Why though? She had been the only one to give him the ritual, had she not? At least, he didn't see anyone else around.

As if she had read his thoughts she guiltily admitted: “I had to steal your body. Even though I fought for your side in the battle, they wouldn't let me give you the proper rites. They wanted to simply bury you and build a monument in your name. Those ignorant fools.” An involuntary shudder ran through her. “It isn't right, not to give someone who gave his life in a noble sacrifice a moon funeral. And you _did die_ nobel. In the battle following your death no one you cared for suffered even a scratch. It is your sacrifice that made victory possible for your friends. Sacrificial magic is the most powerful kind known to the world.”

Harry simply listened and absorbed the information without feeling anything. He was too confused to even think. He did not understand. “Why-”, he finally said, stopping himself at once. Then he tried again: “I do not remember.”

She sighed, again, her head lowered. “That I did not anticipate. Nor did I think, you would turn into a sprite. In the olde stories it is said, the moon rarely chooses someone to become a sprite. I am sorry. I merely wished for you to receive the honours you deserve and to move on with the blessing of the moon.”

“Thank you.” Her head shot up in evident surprise, maybe even shock. Harry smiled at her with the full warmth of his heart. He truly was grateful. “Thank you. To have met the moon… it was a wonderful experience, even if it was short. And to do anything to honour a dead boy was quite noble of yourself.”

Her eyes widened as she stared at him in shock. His smile softened as did his eyes. He grasped her hand in his, ignoring the burning feeling it brought with it, and gave her a squeeze. “Again, thank you. I do not know, how close we were in life, but you have earned my gratitude. If there ever is something you need, tell me.” He paused and then added with a tiny grin: “Er, I might need your name for it, though.” He inclined his head slightly. “The moon called me Harry Hallow.”

As improbable as it seemed, she managed to make her eyes go even huger. “I-”, her voice broke off. Then a brilliant smile illuminated her face, which made her look a decade older, diminishing the dirt, as she incline her head in turn. “Well met, Harry Hallow, born of the most noble house of Potter. My name is Narcissa of the noble house of Malfoy, born of the noble and most ancient house of Black. It is an honour and privilege. As your current state is my doing, I will consider it my duty to tell you everything I know, that you desire to learn of.”

Harry nodded, thankful. “I gratefully accept, Narcissa of the noble house of Malfoy.”

Her smile turned playful. “Narcissa will do, then.” Then her smile turned sad. “If you wish to, then I will tell you about your death and your life before.” The boy nodded, his mien turning serious. She hesitated. “Maybe we should talk somewhere else. People are bound to come looking for your body soon. They are still tending to the wounded, but your absence will be noticed. You are their saviour, after all.”

He did see the sense in that and agreed. Standing up, he looked at the three items in his hands. “They’re yours.” He looked up. Narcissa smiled sadly again. “I gave them to you for the rites. They're yours to keep. And it seems the olde stories spoke true. As you woke up and changed into a sprite, they too changed. They are now infused with your power and a part of you as long as you exist on this world.”

He nodded hesitantly, then pulled the cloak around his shoulders. Using the broach he made a makeshift sheath for the ritual dagger by connecting two points of hishis too wide trouser leg that were just as far apart as the dagger was wide and slid it inside, ready to go.

She hesitantly took his arm and shuddered. Next he knew, they arrived at a huge, white mansion, which made him want to throw up for a few moments. She then guided him through various hallways into a private parlor, where she situated herself into an elegant canopy, inviting him along. Finally, she told his tale.

“When you were born, a madman tried to take over the wizarding world…”

As he listened, Harry heard and saw echos of what he was told, but never once did he remember clearly. Sometimes, he could even elaborate on something she only heard about, but didn't know for sure, though those times were few and far between. Not because she knew everything about him, but because it was difficult for him to remember anything at all. It was like his memories were still there but buried deep inside. It was not impossible to dig something up, if he truly tried, but it took a huge amount of effort and the the results were mostly not really worth it. Still, it was nice to know, where he had come from.

And hearing about his suffering, it made him think that maybe, it was better to not remember his pain. There seemed to be good memories as well, but as he did not know anything about the value of those, he considered that maybe he was better off not knowing. Still, something inside him ached when he heard certain names. _Lily and James Potter. Ron Weasley. Hermione Granger. Remus Lupin. Sirius Black._ And curiously enough: _Severus Snape_. Even when Narcissa told him with no uncertain words that the two of them hated each other. It still felt right to mourn him, though. Of those his heart recognised, only Ron and Hermione seemed to have survived, his best friends apparently. Ones that had followed him to the end of the world it seemed.

When she finished her tale, he needed a moment to process everything. Finally he said, his voice somber: “Thank you, Narcissa, for telling me.” She had held nothing back, telling him about her own bad deeds and their distant if not antagonistic acquaintance in full. She told him about her circumstances and mistakes, but didn't make any excuses. For that, he could respect her. Not even taking her honouring his death into consideration of course. Doing that, she might even become a friend.

They talked a lot more. She told him about what little definite information there was about sprites. First and foremost, she explained about the power of faith. Only one believing in the particular sprite was able to see them. And with the number of believers, the sprite’s power grew. Without anyone left, they slowly faded away, presumably moving on, finally.

Hallows were items infused with the power of a sprite. The more power a sprite had, the more hallows they needed to guide their power. The usual sprite had only one. Harry had three. That thought alone had made him stupefied.

Narcissa visibly pondered about how to tell him something. In the end, she dared: “Harry, I heard you saying something about _mastering death_ to the moon. There… is a story about that. It has become convoluted and lost its real meaning, but I think, that maybe I know, what this is all about. It might be-”

A guttural growl interrupted them. Narcissa’s hand flew into her dress’ pouch, while Harry hesitantly placed his hand on top of his dagger’s handle. From the mist, that all of a sudden had collected in a corner of the room, a _huge_ dog appeared. It was a lot bigger than a horse with burning red eyes and completely pitch black, short fur. It's teeth gleamed in an unholy bone white. And _with_ those teeth, it held several translucent bodies that screamed in agony. Most of them were dressed in black robes and silver masks. On his back were a couple more, those accepting of their situation, some even joyful from the ride.

“Err… nice doggie.” The dog started towards him and funnily enough, Harry did not fear him. He was simply surprised and didn't know, what to do. “Erm. Are you here for something?” The dog growled again and lowered his back. The people sitting on it stepped off.

One old man with a head full of white hair smiled at him and asked: “You are Death then? You are much younger than I imagined.”

Harry blinked. Then slowly he replied: “I am Harry Hallow. And I have no idea, what you are talking about. I died just this night myself.”

The old man’s smile never waned, even when the people behind him stirred with surprise. Then again, they had been surprised by the old man’s words as well. The man in question bowed deeply. “Then allow me to introduce myself. My name is Ophilius Greyheart. I used to be an Unspeakable in the chamber of death. Up until today that is. Our studies led us to the conclusion that grimms collect our deceased souls. It made sense, that either they bring us to the other side or someone that is capable of doing so. I always assumed that someone to be Death. After all-”

“Harry, are you all right?”, Narcissa’s voice cut him off. The boy frowned. It seemed unlike the lady to be so uncouth. “Are you talking with the grimm?”

That made him turn around toward her sharply. “Do you only see the grimm?”, he sought to clarify. She hesitantly nodded.

Harry Hallow looked back towards the small gathering of people. The old man smiled wisely. “It seems, that she is not able to see the souls of the departed.”

“But she sees me and the grimm.”

“But you are both sprites, my boy. Sprites can be seen by those that believe. The only dead the living can see are ghosts.” He looked back to the grimm that waited patiently, lazily wagging his tail and holding on to still screaming souls, chewing a little. “As the grimm brought us to you two and she cannot see us, then you must be the one able to send us onwards.”

For a while, Harry said nothing. He simply thought through the whole thing, trying to come up with some way to fulfil the man’s request. Somehow, when he thought about someone tending souls, trying to send them on, a classical reaper came to his mind. He blinked as a thought occurred to him. Reapers had scythes to reap souls. His eyes looked down to his knife. Then back to the old man.

“I might have an idea, if you were willing to try it.” Ophilius Greyheart inclined his head.

Finally, Harry drew the blade and took the first step towards the man. The closer he came, the more the edge of the ritual dagger gleamed until it was brightly shining, encompassing the whole room with eerie green. As soon as the point of the blade touched the old man, he was gone in a flashlight.

The whole room stared, while Narcissa looked at the empty spot in front of Harry’s dagger with a frown, still not seeing anything, but content to wait until an explanation was presented to her.

The grimm moved first. He nudged the next translucent person towards Harry. Obviously he had done something right, so he continued. First those willing to depart the wold, then those kicking and screaming. Halfway through, another grimm had appeared and Harry moved on to those.

Finally all dead souls were gone, leaving two huge doglike creatures with Harry and his host. After a moment of uncertainty, the boy moved to pet the grimms, which made their tails wiggle all the more. The first one even gave him a lick.

“I guess the two of you can't talk and explain this to me?”, he asked helplessly. The second dog snorted, while the first licked him again. Somehow, he could feel deep inside himself, that they were amused. Harry startled. “Are you- is there some kind of telepathic link between us?” Agreement radiated from both overgrown dogs. “Well, that is probably nearly as good as talking. At least you understand me.” He chewed on his lower lip, thinking about questions, which could be answered in an easy manner.

“So… will this be a reoccurring thing, you bringing dead souls to me and me stabbing them?” Dead certain agreement, no pun intended. “Is that my new purpose, then?” Agreement, again, but this time it was more uncertain. “So there is more to my new job?” The first grimm barked in affirmation. “Err… I guess you are eager to go on with your own job, but can at least one of you stay here, in case I think up more to ask?”

Both barked positively this time and promptly departed. Harry stared at the spot they had left into the now disappearing mist. Maybe he didn't have the telepathy thing down just yet. Or maybe the grimms simply loved to mess with him.

“Is there still something, I cannot see?” The boy looked back towards Narcissa, whose presence he had completely forgotten, and slowly shook his head. She smiled grimly. “Well, I suppose, this answers my theory then, the one I had just before those lovely creatures arrived. There is a legend about three Deathly Hallows that Death left in this world as a sort of prize. The one who collects all three is supposed to be able to master death. Maybe you did collect them prior to your death and are now supposed to take Death’s place. It would only make sense with the amount of Hallows in your possession.” Her smiled became playful. “Those are the new Deathly Hallows then, if I dared to speculate about it.”

Harry didn't have the time to reply, or even think about it, because mist collected once more. This time the grimm that stepped through was considerably smaller, just tall enough for one person to ride. It seemed to have a slimmer figure, less bulky muscle and more sleek. Also, its eyes were completely black. Somehow, Harry felt like it was a female.

She stepped closer and nudged his stomach gently. “Hey, girl.” She seemed to approve as he cautiously petted her neck. As soon as he did, her eyes started to change and turned the same eerie green as his hollows were glowing with.

_Well met, master._

Harry froze for a moment, then smiled brightly. “You can talk!”

 _Evidently._ Could a dog or even grimm sound dry? At least he knew now, that she was female. _I am the oldest of my kind, the first grimm. I am to be an extension of your will for you have mastered death and taken his place._ Something like gratitude filled him from her side of the bond they shared. _He was too old, wary of the life in between. He was glad, his successor had finally been found. You freed him._

Well at least she was not angry at him for having taken away her previous master. “I am glad. So… you are like my secretary?”

She growled. _If you must call it that. Well, I suppose times do change after all. Once one would have compared me to a steward. That had barely been an acceptable term at the time. I implore you not to call me a secretary. It sounds degrading._

Barely suppressing a grin, he nodded. “Then I will. But it would be even better, if I had a name to call you by.”

Approval came from her. _It pleased my previous master to call me Maha._

“Well met, Maha.”

She radiated indorsement. _Shall we depart then? I redirected nearly all of my brethren towards reapers so that you may acclimate to your new existence in peace. But it would be prudent for you to start learning._

“There are reapers?”, was out of his mouth before he could stop himself and search for a more dignified manner to ask for confirmation.

In response he felt deep amusement. _Of course. If Death was the only one to send people on, he - you - would never manage. It is in Death’s power to choose a departed soul, imbue them with a bit of his power and let them reap in his stead. A lot of them tend to dislike my kind, though, and prefer to reap on their own. Keeping them in check is also one of your duties, after all they use Death’s powers, your powers. That makes you responsible._

Harry felt a headache coming up. “I don't suppose, those are all of my duties?”

Amusement. _Of course not. You are a primordial force, on par with god himself. There is bound to be a little more to it than supervising people working for you._ She radiated pure merriment, not entirely innocent. _You have enough work to keep you occupied all year round. Naturally you will be your busiest on All Hallows' tide._

Somehow, that brought up a quite bitter thought. It was always Halloween. Remembering some of the tales Narcissa had told him, it made some kind of morbid sense. He was vaguely aware that All Hallows' tide included three days. Just his luck. Not that he had even the slightest idea what those days were for except having a feast on Halloween. He couldn't even fathom his duties on those days.

A feeling from Maha seemed to nudge him and ask, what the hold up was all about. She seemed eager to start. Still, he hesitated and looked back towards Narcissa. Then a resolve grew inside him. “I want to see Ron and Hermione first. Then I will start my duties.”

The lady Malfoy startled in surprise. Then she smiled sadly. “I will guide you, then.” Her gaze flicked towards Maha. It was obvious, she feared the grimm, but her voice did not even hitch. “You might want to leave her here. Even though most wizards don't believe in Death, some still believe in grimms. She might cause a mass panic if you take her strolling around the aftermath of a battlefield.”

“Wouldn't they see grimms collecting the souls of the dead?”, he asked in surprise.

_We need less than a twentieth of a second to collect a soul. And we usually do not linger. Most people would just see a flicker of light, if they paid attention. And most don't when their beloved just died._

“Huh. That actually makes sense.” He explained it to Narcissa, who could evidently not hear his new partner. “Fine. Would you wait for me? I really need to see them before I can move on. Even if I don't remember, I have a feeling I need to do it.”

_You can always reach me through our bond. You merely have to call and I will come to you. Until then, I will resume my other duties._

Harry nodded and let the lady take his arm once again. Just after having successfully suppressed the urge to retch, he resolved himself that the first thing he would ask Maha to teach him would be how to travel through mist. Any other way must be better than the feeling of being squeezed though a tube.

They had arrived at the edge of a forest. A beautiful castle in front of them glowed warmly from the light of the rising sun. And all around were debris and dead bodies. Some had been lined up to be identified, others were still waiting to be moved. People walked and limped around like in trance and continued to make paths walkable and to sort out the bodies. The wounded had obviously been taken care of already.

Some people nodded in respect as Narcissa walked past them, some greeted her warily. Still, there were also those that ignored her with a distasteful expression or even sneered at her. Narcissa of house Malfoy proved to be a lady to her bone and took all of it in stride.

They entered a great hall of sorts. A lot of the dead in there had people mourning next to them. Especially a hulk of red headed people stuck out of the crowds. Narcissa moved towards those.

The young girl among them looked up and sneered. “What do you want? Have you not done enough? He is _gone_. Did you take him?!” A man, the father obviously, put a hand on her shoulder to calm her down or at least prevent her from doing something stupid.

“I do not know, what you speak of, Miss Weasley. I assure you, the only person I took was my son, whom I took home to rest. I came back as soon as possible to help.”

The girl moved to reply, but her father cut her off: “We appreciate that, Lady Malfoy. We need all the help we can get. The ministry is in shambles as well, so we cannot even hope for their help in this.”

Narcissa nodded. “I have asked my house elves to tend to Draco and then come here to help as well as well as bring refreshments as I suspect that the people here will need them. That reminds me. Where would I find the youngest Mister Weasley and Miss Granger? There is something I need to tell them.” The _about Harry's death_ remained unspoken. But all of them understood anyway. The eldest Weasley directed them towards the headmaster’s office.

The gargoyle seemed to be able to see Harry and bowed its head before revealing the stairways it guarded without a word. As they climbed up the stairs, they heard a lot of sniffing and muttered words, presumably to console them both. Ron and Hermione were embracing each other on the flor in front of what looked like a stone basin. It took a moment for them to realise that they were no longer alone.

The boy seemed to want to throw them out immediately. Only the girl’s calming hand on his shoulder prevented him from such. Instead he spit out: “What do _you_ want?”

Narcissa did not let that attitude disturb her. Instead she remained frighteningly calm. “Mister Weasley. Miss Granger. As one of you is muggleborn and the other ignorant of his ancestors belief, I would like to tell you about the olde ways.”

“We don't need that bloody pureblood shit!”

The lady arched a brow. “Indeed. I do not appreciate the modern pureblood beliefs as well. The olde ways I speak of are nearly forgotten in the wizarding society, even often ridiculed. I still believe though and would like to share them with you if you were amendable.”

The girl’s eyes gleamed just a little, their sadness not entirely quenched, but dulled. “We would be honoured”, she exclaimed while clutching her friend’s arm warningly.

“Thank you. The olde ways revolve around the assumption that the moon contains a powerful and benevolent sprite.” The redhead scoffed, but did not dare speak while Hermione still held his arm painfully. “We of the olde way believe, that the moon sometimes blesses babes when he shines upon them with his full glory and grants them the gift of magic.” Hermione inhaled sharply as she understood the implications of that belief. There was no way the purebloods nowadays would believe such. It would imply that muggleborns were just as blessed as pureblooded wizarding children and had a right to their magic.

Narcissa smiled bitterly. “That is one of the first things that was forgotten by the rest of the world. The moon sprite is to thank for our gifts and as such we offer him our bravest and most noble souls when they depart, so that the moon may look upon them and grant them a place by his side. That is the reason I wanted to have Mister Potter to have a moon funeral. It is his right gained by the noble sacrifice he made in your name to be given a place of honour by the moon’s side.”

She hesitated, then added: “And there is another reason as well. Rarely, very rarely, the moon sprite is impressed by a mortal’s sacrifice and character and makes them a sprite in turn to guard over earth’s souls with his blessing.” Silently the lady regarded the youths in front of her. The two of them listened more or less politely, but did not believe. That was to be expected.

“As I understand, Mister Potter collected the Deathly Hallows prior to his ultimate sacrifice.” Now the two of them seemed alarmed, ready to pounce her. So she hastily continued: “I have not told anyone else, nor do I intend to. And the way I learned of it would be impossible for nearly anybody else. Those that would be able to gain such knowledge would not be able to act on it, as the Deathly Hallows must have lost all their powers or vanished. After all, Mister Potter died in such a way, that made passing on the ownership of Death’s Wand impossible; Mister Potter _sacrificed himself_ \- he did not get bested -, letting the curse of the Hallow die with him.”

Ron stood there, his face scrunched up and clearly confused, but thinking all the same. Hermione, however, was in deep contemplation as she considered Narcissa’s words carefully. “What is it exactly, you came here to tell us, Madam Malfoy?”

The lady smiled and did not correct the young woman on the topic of her rightful title. “I came to tell you of the olde ways. It speaks of sprites and sacrifices. Death in essence is a sprite, a powerful one, granted, but still a sprite. Just like grimms and reapers are his servants, as they are tied to him by his granting them their power. Consider this: what would that make the master of death?”

That had the both of them staring at her. Ron found his voice first as he spluttered: “Blimey! Are you bloody telling us, that Harry became a spirit-sprite something, that lords over death?”

Without loosing her mild smile, she replied calmly: “I am saying, that Mister Potter took Death’s place and is right here in this room with us. He asked to see the two of you before he went on with his duties.”

That had them looking widely around, half expecting, half by reflex. They didn't see him.

“Sprites can only be seen by those, that believe”, Narcissa added softly, her voice full of empathy as she looked at Harry. Ron made a sound of disbelief, while Hermione began a monologue on the topic of imaginary creatures, including those of a Luna Lovegood.

But both still didn't see him. Something seemed to be burning in his stomach, though he did not know, why it affected him so greatly. After all, he did not remember them. He didn't know, what else to do, he simply wanted to get away. To stop seeing them, hearing them, feeling this dull pain.“I am leaving”, he declared abruptly.

Narcissa startled and looked at him sharply. “Are you su-”

She was cut off by the arrival of Maha. They all froze, though, when Ron let out a frightened cry. Even Hermione shut up and looked at him as if he had lost his mind. He in turn just stared at the overgrown dog, apparently having lost all capacity of speech.

Maha crooked her head at him, decided to ignore the strange redheaded boy and turned to her master next to the strange blonde woman she had met earlier. _Is it time to go, Master?_ , she asked respectfully, while swagging her tail just a bit.

Harry nodded and patted her snout. “It appears to be, Maha.” His voice was quiet and just a bit husky.

The grimm gave him a vibe of sympathy and licked his hand. _Do not fret, Master. At least you have that strange woman and my brethren. My kind will never abandon you. It-_

“Harry”, it spundend breathless, unbelieving and full of daring hope. The new death sprite snapped his head towards the Weasley boy, who was staring at him, shocked. Harry's mind short-circuited. Staring. At. _Him._ He _saw him._ The boy hesitantly made a step towards him. “Harry, that you mate? Are you really here?”

Harry blinked. There was so much _emotion_ in the boy’s voice. “I-”, he hesitated. Somehow, he had the feeling, that he would turn out a disappointment for the boy. Still, he had to say _something_. So he tried to explain himself. “I don't remember my life before death. But Narcissa told me about my life, about _you guys_ , and I wanted to at least-”

That was as far as he came with his lacking explanation, for he was cut off by a strong pair of arms engulfing him in a fierce hug. Next he knew, he had a sobbing redhead crushing him to death. Metaphorically speaking of course. He could do nothing else but trying to calm him down by patting him slightly, feeling out of his depth.

“Harry?” That voice was female, tiny, disbelieving, contradicting the fact, that the bushy haired girl finally saw him, _believed_. Then she threw herself on him as well and Harry just continued comforting them both.

It felt like the world had rightened itself. All those confusing things that had made him all funny inside suddenly made sense. And he _remembered_. And he cried, while hugging his two best friends back. “ _Ron. Hermione._ ”

The trio did not know, how long they had been standing there, hugging and crying, but when they finally calmed down, they were alone. It seemed, the lady Malfoy and Maha had a sense of propriety and had felt their need to talk just among themselves.

They settled down, still not letting go completely, needing the assurance, that he really was there. Hermione held onto Harry’s hand, while Ron brushed his shoulder with his own, while looking anywhere else, red faced to his ears. And Harry let them, because he could not believe, he had nearly gone on and never come back, because he didn't remember his best buddies. Had he ever remembered after, he wouldn't have been able to forgive himself.

And so they sat. And talked. And laughed. And cried some more, though Ron would deny it vehemently after.

When Harry was finally ready to move on with his new duties, he _really wasn't_. And he would never really be ready to leave his friends behind. But he was prepared to let them live their lives without his constant presence. Because he knew, they would meet him at least once more before they left this world.

So he left with two silent promises.

He would watch over them and visit whenever he could.

And he would do his utmost to learn about his powers, so that, when the time came, he would be able to hold on to their souls, if they still desired to stay at his side in death as they had in life. After all, what good was it to be Death incarnate, if he couldn't even hold on to those most dear to him? They would have many more adventures together - of that he was pretty sure.

As Dumbledore had once said: death was just a new beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> So here it is, my first work on ao3.  
> (You are welcomed to check out my work in ff.net. „Freed from Fate“. It’s a crossover between Naruto and Inuyasha. I plan on posting it on ao3 as soon as I can, but before I do that I need to rework my chapters so far a little.)  
> I do hope, you enjoyed this OS. It just kind of came to be and didn’t leave me alone until I finished it.  
> Feedback is always welcome. English isn’t my first language and this is my second attempt on writing in English. So you might understand my nervousness:p.  
> If you guys liked my story, I do have an idea for a sequel OS of this work with a Supernatural crossover. But I will only actually write it down if people are interested in it. Also, I might have an idea for another sequel OS within the HP and Guardian fandoms. It contains Harry, Pitch and possibly but not assuredly Jack.  
> Well, so much from me.  
> Please, do tell me whether you liked this:)  
> Yours, Yunes.


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